day by day.....

OK, so for the longest time, my hubby kept telling me, "Liz, that looks really bad." I'd smile and nod, "uh-huh."  I would tell him, usually because I didn't really know how bad it was.  Usually the spots that are visible aren't THAT bad, but when there is a spot that I can touch, but NOT see, well, let's just say it becomes the grand canyon. So finally, Ez and Brad caught some peeks at my back, and told me "Liz....that really is bad." Needless to say, my soon-to-be-a-nurse of a Husband demanded that he doctor me up as soon as we got home.  It was oozing, bleeding, all kinds of nasty medical words to describe an infection.  So, I let him bandage me up.  He had to put two bandages on, because I've actually been known to pick UNDER a bandaid.  Needless to say, the results are amazing.  Take a peek.

Looking at these pictures I realized...I have a lot of scars all around that sore.  If you look at the top picture, every white patch surrounding the red spot is some type of scar.  Really is a different perspective when you look at a picture...

A Little Bit More

So after my last entry I got to thinking, if the choice to pick or not to pick, to be or not to be is entirely up to me, it's going to take a whole lot more work and attention than I've been giving it.  I've been going at it half-way, all the while still clinging desperately to the label I've created for myself....I'm a picker, and that's it.  Wow.  How I've been demeaning myself all these years!  Thinking it was an inevitability and then degrading myself when I failed?  What kind of twisted logic is that? I guess I have to hold myself more accountable than I have been.  Quit blaming the caffeine, quit blaming the circumstances...nothing is twisting my arm and making me inflict harm upon myself.  (Yes, I have finally come to terms with calling it that.  Calling it what it is. Deliberate self harm in an innocent disguise of a "stressed-out mom." Yeah right, let's quit lying here.)  The fact of the matter is I am the responsible one.  God cannot magically free me of this burden, but he can cover me with his grace and love and give me the strength I've been meant to have so I can help myself.  I think that's what he does, and that is the point of my faith.  I think "God" said it best in Evan Almighty:

"Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?" 

God can lift me up, and raise me to a higher standard than I've been holding myself to for twenty years.   He is able, I alone am not.  God...make me able.

Stronger than a little bad habit

Well team, the battle seems to have reared its ugly head once again.  It almost seems like it goes in waves, but I think I've lost my grip on it.  I think I have let it over take me.  I've let it bubble up to the surface and have control. Well I don't think a bad habit, an addiction, an OCD, or whatever it is should have that kind of power over me.  I am stronger than a little bad habit, and I am not going to allow it to run my life.  For so long I've just defined myself by a bad habit.  A picker.  I am what I do.  I pick, I am a picker.  Wow, have I been lying to myself for a while now.  Where the heck has that gotten me???  Well here's what I have to say to you, you terrible thoughts....YOU ARE CAPTIVE NOW! I've always heard that verse in church about capturing every negative thought and holding it captive to Christ, but now I think I know what it really means.  I am not what I do, I do what I am.  I am not A Picker.  I am a child of God who picks.  That is such a better way of seeing it, so freeing.  When I look at it that way, it feels like I have the choice in this.  I am not a victim of my circumstances, I don't need to dig at my flesh to feel alive, to wake up to the world, or to drift off to sleep in it.  My hands can do so much more.  I can do so much more.  I have been holding myself back, hiding away, staying in the shadows of my embarrassment.   All the foundation and powder in the world can't cover what I'm really hiding. Short and sweet tonight, because it's late and I'm hoping, with the strength and the Grace of God, this could be my last entry.  Could every entry from here on out be of my success?  Of my power and my beauty? My boldness and security in who I am? I think so, because I know who I am.  And who I really am is SO MUCH better than the lie.

Thankfulness

Okay well I haven't blogged in a while, partly because I haven't bad anything of consequence to say, and partly because I don't want to admit that I've been slipping. That, however is not the topic of this post. I had an incredible opportunity today. In fact, it was so incredible, im blogging about it on wifi! anyway, My unit goes to the Old Country Buffet on our drill weekends and today there was a WWII veteran and his German wife eating lunch. Did you hear me? WWII veteran! Do you know how many of those brave men are still around? (In hindsight I wish I would have gotten a picture of he and I...but that probably would have been creepy). So I approached him and he says to me, "it's been 75 years since I wore that uniform." And that was all he said, he didn't need to say anything else, because my gratitude and his, were both apparent. As I sat back down I looked around and realized...I was the only soldier to go talk to him. It kind of crushed me a little bit. This man gave his all for our country...without his sacrifice, I don't think our country would be worth fighting for. And all around the room are America's "patriots". Some patriots we are. Maybe it's just me, but every time I meet a veteran, they leave a hand print on my very soul. And it got me to thinking....how grateful am I really? Not just to him, but to everyone, all the people who have been there for me along the way. Lately God has been working in me, showing me the things around me I've been too blind to see, and I am seeing how grateful I really need to be. Grateful for the help, the love, and the forgiveness I've received over the years. I don't know about you, but to me, that's what love is really about.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Pick. Pick. Pick.

So my dad came up to Saginaw on Tuesday to get me my medicine, and to see Sam and what not.  He told me to call him in the morning and confirm.  I did, but it went straight to voicemail...I called again, voicemail.  I don't think too much of it because I was under the impression that he would be at my house around 3.  Three o'clock rolls around and I find myself 4 feet tall again, braces, glasses and a mullet, peeking through the blinds every five minutes, waiting to see if he had arrived. A car door would slam, and I would jump.  Little five-year-old me, drenched in eagerness and excitement.  If I close my eyes I can still see it, still hear it...

Propped up on the couch with my head glued to the window, eyes whizzing

 left and right with every car that sped past, knowing it was in vain.  The haunting

tick, tick, tick of our mantle clock a constant reminder that time wasn't standing still

for me, not now, not tonight.  This night, like so many others, had started as an 

afternoon, and had agonizingly progressed into an evening, and then, into a night.

It had become a night with a book, nestled into our lazy boy, under our giant 

floor lamp.  Just me and my vivid imagination, my best and constant friend.  As the 

moments ticked away, I would lull myself into a daze, rocking in the chair, and 

picking at my face, the same spot I'd been working on for a week like some kind of

overdue pet project.  Of course, my little mind had no idea any of this was transpiring, 

it was just...me.  Some days when the windows were open, I would feel the Michigan

breeze dance across my face, causing my tears to draw little squiggly lines down my

rosy cheeks.  This was the position I found myself in for probably a decade.  Always

waiting for something different, always waiting for the prince to show up, but 

he never did.   At fourteen, in my homecoming dress, heels and make-up, I found

myself in this same position, desperately trying to ignore the clock, despite its ever

present hourly chimes, reminding me of the hopelessness of the evening.  Maintaining

hope, I kept my eyes focused on the road, eyeing every headlight with childlike

eagerness, knowing the next car would be the one.  Fast forward to seventeen, a 

little older, a little more jaded, but still waiting.  Still picking, still passing the time 

in the only way I knew how.  

Why is it that the people you are waiting for never show up, but the one you don't want to see is always there? That was the agonizing question for so many years.  Couldn't I just pick better people?  Couldn't I just take control over the situation?  Twenty-four, and a self proclaimed control freak, I still battle this waiting  phenomenon. Except now, I never give anyone a chance to blow me off, I'll cancel

on them before they have the chance to not show up.  I won't ask just on the off chance that they won't do. It's the human condition, after all.  Well holy crap.  It's not the God condition.  Something tells me HE's not going to mess this up, he's not going to leave me waiting.  So maybe I should stop expecting it.